17 Wrath

Jacob left town for the first time in months. He had a backpack filled with preserved food – mainly salted meat – as a gift from Rod. The man told him it was an investment, not a present. After all, how could an inn stay in business without its cook? It was a kind gesture from the innkeeper, even if Rod did everything to make it seem like it was anything but.

The suns shined brightly, their twin light bathing the road. A few travelers passed him as he walked, wishing him well on his journey. Most of the were mercenaries; they could recognize when another warrior was out on business. Jacob kept his right hand near his blade at all times, resting it on the pommel. The sword itself sat in a sheath tied to his belt, both gifts from a surprisingly generous employer of his. Clearly, Rod wished to see him return in once piece.

It was only when the suns began to set and the moons crawled up the sky that he heard the first howls. The wolves' cries permeated the air, the sounds sending shivers through Jacob's body. He had come out to fight these beasts, but he was still conditioned to fear them from his time on Earth. A time when he had neither any skill at the sword nor with magic.

Jacob exited the road, but only just. He found a stumpy tree, shorter than the others lining the road and far easier to climb. He propelled himself up its branches and found relative safety in the wooden arms. Doubtful he'd be able to easily fall asleep, Jacob watched the stars until his eyes closed of their own volition.

He resumed his trek in the morning, witnessing more and more armed travelers on the road as he went. According to Rod, the wolves' tracks were most commonly found on this side of the nearest crossroads. Thanks to a conversation with a friendlier-looking sellsword – which wasn't all that friendly at all – Jacob had discovered that he had maybe half a day's walk before he'd be there.

That meant that if he wanted to hunt the wolves, he'd need to either wait until nightfall and hunt them by their calls or track them while the suns were still up. The former would be easier, especially for his lack of skill in tracking. Then again, fighting wolves in the dark was tantamount to death, so he elected to go with the latter. Maybe he'd learn a new skill from this entire experience, in the end.

Just as he was about to begin scanning the tree-line for any hint of the wolves' passing, he found the wreckage of a small cart. It was familiar-looking; it reminded him of the boy he had once saved. It looked identical to the one the boy and his family carried their belongings on as they fled the city. Jacob investigated the wreckage, seeing dried blood all over the wood. His stomach turned.

Travelling this way, down the road instead of up, was rare at this time of year. Very few people from Leafburrow made the trek down. Other than Angelica and the mage, he didn't know of any travelers leaving Leafburrow, and he knew more than most. That meant that this could only have belonged to the family. And by the looks of it, the family didn't quite make it to Steelshade.

His breakfast of heavily salted meat came up. After cleaning his stomach out, Jacob said a quick prayer, once again, to any of this world's many Gods and Goddesses. He sought their safe travel to the afterworld. Once that was done, the revulsion that had overcome him turned to an overwhelming wrath.

The cart looked as if chunks had been torn from it, rather than smashed. With the lack of other travelers, the only possible culprits that could have preyed upon the family were the wolves. Jacob sought vengeance.

There were no tracks here, for the attack had happened months ago. With renewed vigor, Jacob searched every inch of the tree-line until he found a small print. It looked vaguely like a dog's. Jacob had his trail.

Taking care to be as silent as he could, Jacob sneaked through the forest. His surroundings gradually darkened with the thickening canopy, but any sense of self-preservation had fled with his recent realization. These wolves had to pay for what they've done.

Day turned to night, and Jacob found himself in a tree once more. The howls no longer scared him; they reminded him of his grim task. That said, sleep was unable to find him. The adrenaline his veins carried proved too strong for even the heaviest exhaustion to claim him. He pressed on the next morning, eating stale bread as he went.

Evidence of wolves' passing became more and more obvious the deeper he went, but he saw a few other abnormalities on the forest floor as well. There was a weird slither-like pattern in the dirt next to the wolf prints. It was like an overgrown snake, nothing the like of which he had ever seen or heard of on Earth.

Caution advised him to stay away from the tracks and return to Leafburrow. No amount of magical experimentation, of revenge, could be worth it. Unfortunately for Caution, Rage turned out to be a much more persuasive emotion.

A clearing lay ahead of him. Within it, a pack of wolves were snarling and leaping at a massive snake. Based on its appearance, it could only be one of the wyrms Will had talked about so long ago. The beast was bleeding, but many wolves lay dead in the field.

As it stood, the wyrm had the clear advantage. It struck out with short, stubby appendages at any wolf that dared get too close to it. It bit at whatever it could. But its stamina couldn't last forever. Its wounds would see to that. And when it faltered, Jacob leapt into action.

The wolves were his. But first, he needed to remove the wyrm from the equation.